a world without her
by bumblebee jars
Summary: He screams her name until his voice is hoarse and he sounds more jungle cat than human, and still she does not fly back to him. [Darling Pan, au.]
1. Chapter 1

**a world without her**

* * *

**T**he curse breaks in math class. Mrs. Thatcher stops her lecture on domain and range and blinks, straightening. "Oh," she says, and drops her marker. Other kids are blinking and looking around, like they have no idea why they're here.

In the silence, someone sprints down the hall, screaming another's name—the_ real_ name. Peter sits, staring at his hands, trying to comprehend the countless memories flitting through his head._ Regina,_ he manages to think through the cascade of images—faces—names. _Regina did this._

When he gets his thoughts in order, he smoothly stands up and strides out of the classroom. A minute later, he hears the rest of the class follow his lead, bursting with questions and "have you seen"s and disbelief. But he pays them no mind as he strides out of the school and turns to City Hall.

_I have a queen to kill._

* * *

**H**e sees Wendy halfway to City Hall, and all thoughts of killing Regina disappear. His bird looks lost, gripping the side of a tree while madness reigns all around her. Her eyes flicker across the scene, looking for—for what?

He stands on the side of the street, staring at her, waiting for her to notice him. When she does, he expects her to greet him with a smile or a wave, or possibly go to him.

He doesn't expect her to take one look at him and bolt in the opposite direction, but it is a pleasant surprise. He hasn't played in so long. Peter feels a familiar smile creep across his face. "In the mood for Chase, then, little bird?" he whispers, and gives her a ten-second head start (just like it was on Neverland, just like it _will_ be) before running after her.

Peter might not have any magic to aid him, here in Storybrooke (even the_ name_ disgusts him), but he's always been fast.

Unfortunately, Wendy's just as fast, too, especially when she has no cumbersome nightgown to hold her back and he has no magic to make him faster. One hundred years of outrunning jungle cats will do that.

She is the bird, and he the wolf, and she plays the game very well. He chases her, laughing while slowly catching up, and laughs harder when she flees into the woods—his home, second only to Neverland itself. "Oh, Wendy-bird," he calls, weaving through the trees. He can see the brown leather of her jacket and her hair, come loose out of her braid, flying behind her as she runs, not even attempting to be quiet. "You should've known better than to think you would get away from_ me_."

Wendy doesn't respond, just pushes herself more until they break through the wood and get to a long, winding asphalt road. A _Welcome to Storybrooke_ sign is hundreds of feet away, and Peter laughs again. He's only fifty feet behind her now, and gaining fast.

Soon the bird will be caught, and put back in her cage where she belongs (with him).

But then he tastes the magic tingling in the air and stops dead, his grin vanishing. Wendy seems to sense that she's no longer being pursued and slows as well, eventually approaching the sign and resting a hand on it. She turns toward him, quivering and red-faced and panting, and he holds up a hand.

Peter Pan has never been afraid, but there's something distinct malevolent in the magic he tastes—magic that's right behind the bird, beckoning to her and caressing her back like it's a lover. "Don't go any farther, Darling," he says, holding up a hand. He turns it up, beckoning to her. "Come here. Now."

"No," she says, clutching at the sign like it's her lifeline. A familiar spark of anger ignites inside him, but he chokes it down and forces himself to be calm._ Like speaking to a new Lost Boy_, he tells himself.

"Your brothers are here," he soothes. He doesn't know if it's true—not really—but right now he'll do anything to keep her from stepping back into the embrace of the magic behind her. "Baelfire's here. They're all waiting for you back in Storybrooke. All you have to do is come here. I'll take you home."

"You're lying," she seethes. "You're always _lying_ to me, Peter! Neverland isn't my home, it's _never_ been my _home_—"

The anger surges to cloud his vision, and he clenches his jaw and steps forward. "Come now, bird, you don't_ mean_ that—"

Wendy glares at him and steps back, into the wall of magic, and it swallows her in one gulp. He can see it descend over her like a cloud and sprints forward as she trips over something invisible and twists away, landing on her hands and knees—on the other side of the magic wall holding him back.

He almost crosses the wall to get to her, but the magic in front of him tastes so sweet it reminds him of dreamshade and he keeps himself rooted to the road. Wendy doesn't speak for a long moment and slowly gets to her feet. "Bird?" he says, forcing himself to sound less concerned than he is.

Wendy faces him—and her face is completely, _utterly_ blank. "Do I know you?"

Something inside him clenches painfully, but he schools his expression. "Yes. I'm . . . I'm Peter. We're friends. You got lost, and I found you. Your brothers are waiting—"

"I don't have any brothers," she interrupts, alarm in her wide eyes. She takes a step back and raises a hand, as if trying to ward him off and protect herself at the same time. She steps away again and flinches when he clenches his jaw.

Peter has seen Wendy in many moods—anger, frustration, sadness—but he has never seen her _afraid_. At least, not openly, and not in one hundred years. On Neverland, he would have gloated in the knowledge that he can scare her, but here it nauseates him.

Wendy's voice grows more panicked. "I remember now. I was—I was running away from _you!_"

_Bird, don't you _dare_—_

Before he can reply, she turns on her heel and runs down the road, away from _him_, like she has the _right_ to leave. He realizes what she's doing a heartbeat too late. "No—" the word is a whisper, and then he calls, louder. "No. Bird—Wendy... _Wendy!_ _Come back!_"

Wendy doesn't reply, and Peter watches her, growing more desperate with every second. He screams her name until his voice is hoarse and he sounds more jungle cat than human, and still she does not fly back to him.

The road stretches on for a mile at least, and the loudest and hoarsest time her name leaves his lips is when Wendy runs around the bend in the road and disappears from his sight.

Peter is left behind, staring at the empty road. His bones are screaming to go after her, chase her down and punish her for being so _stupid_—but he can't. The magic in front of him tastes sweet with a deadly aftertaste, and now he knows what it can do.

_It took her. It took Wendy from me._

Peter stares at the empty road for another minute, then turns on his heel and walks away, his mind already starting to formulate a plan._ I'll find you_, Wendy-bird, he thinks, clenching his fists until his blunt nails dig blood-filled crescents in his palms.

_I always do._


	2. Chapter 2

**[A/N]**: part two of the series. note to readers - I have lots more DP fanfic on my tumblr.

* * *

"No," says Regina, and Peter steps away. "No one can leave Storybrooke. It's impossible. The curse prevented that."

"In case you haven't noticed, Regina," Peter scoffs, gesturing to the gathered circle—Rumplestiltskin, the sheriff, him, and the Queen—"the curse has already _been_ broken. And my bird's escaped. I need to get her back."

"Wendy isn't your property," Emma says. Peter clenches his teeth as he smiles. _She doesn't understand. None of them do._

"Just because she isn't property doesn't mean she's not _mine_," he tells her, and turns to the Dark One. "Surely you understand this, Rumple. Returning magic to this land was a brilliant move, but it's useless if I can't cross that wall safely."

"I'd be happy to help you, Pan," Rumple says, in a tone that betrays his words. The Dark One smiles thinly and adds, "For a price, of course."

Peter throws his head back and laughs. "Let's make a deal, Rumple," he says, turning his body so he is ignoring the other two. They can't help him, anyway. Peter grins and spreads out his hands. "I'm feeling generous today. You give me something to cross that line safely, and I let this town remain intact."

"Is that a threat?" Regina asks, incredulous. Peter shakes his head and looks at her, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh, no, your Majesty." His grin fades. "It was a _promise_."

* * *

When they still say no (how dare they refuse him? _Peter Pan_?) Peter spends a few days observing the Dark One until he finds a weakness—in the form of a woman whose presence makes the Dark One soften like a flower about to release pixie dust. It's unusual, but typical.

He waits for the woman to stay at the library until after dark—then he makes his move. He makes sure to stay standing across the street to watch the scene, even when the firetrucks arrive and the Dark One limps to the burning library as fast as he can. He stays long enough to see the horror on Rumplestiltskin's face, highlighted orange and red by the still-roaring flames, as he watches the woman loaded into an ambulance, her clothes charred and an oxygen mask on her face.

It takes a moment for him to realize he's being observed, but the Dark One whirls around the moment he does. Peter stares at him for a moment, moves his gaze to the blaze the firefighters are trying so _desperately _to repel, and then looks back at the Dark One.

He makes sure to smile before he turns and walks away.

* * *

When he walks into Rumple's shop the next day, he touches a unicorn mobile as he says, "Shame about what happened yesterday. Was anyone hurt?"

He looks over his shoulder to stare at Rumple, whose white-knuckled hands grip the counter he stands behind. _He's angry. Good._ "What do you want, Pan?"

"Oh, is that still a question?" Peter laughs and turns around, examining glass figurines in a case. "You know what I want."

Rumple fixes his gaze on something over Peter's shoulder, his jaw tightly clenched. He inhales sharply through his nose and walks around the counter, leaning heavily on his cane. Peter waits, unafraid, and makes a note to kick the stick out from him if Rumple dares to threaten him. "As it is," the imp begins, walking past Peter to another counter, "I just so happen to have someone in the world outside Storybrooke as well."

"Perfect! We can have an adventure together, just like old times." Peter grins. "What do we need?"

Rumple glares at him. "Remind me why I must help you, Pan? I can't help but remember you've done _nothing_ to deserve it."

Peter's grin vanishes, and he steps closer, narrowing his eyes. "If you don't help me," he says, and leans closer and drops his voice to a whisper-hiss, "the hospital will be next."

Shock and anger flit across Rumple's face, but then he controls his expression and turns around to walk. "You need something that used to belong to them to cross the border safely," Rumple says. "I've been … _experimenting_, since Mr. Clark and … Wendy, obviously. I used it on Mr. Smee just a few days ago, and he was in full control of his true memories."

Mr. Smee. Peter inwardly rolls his eyes at the reminder of that idiot and leans forward, placing his hands on the counter. "I have something," he tells him. "Now we need to know where they are."

"That's what I'm doing right now." He bends down and straightens, holding a clear globe of the world. "All you have to do is prick your finger and concentrate on who you would like to find the most, and the globe will show you his or her location. Observe."

Rumple pricks his finger on the spindle and lets the blood roll down the metal to stain the globe. Instead of smearing on the glass, like Peter had expected it to, the blood sinks underneath the glass and spreads out, swimming around the glass sphere and rejoining in a place that is unfamiliar to Peter.

"Ah," Rumple mutters. "New York. Your turn, Pan."

Peter doesn't know where that is, but he allows himself a smirk as he stabs his finger on the spindle. His blood is brighter than Rumple's, and that gives him a sick sense of amusement as his blood rolls down the spindle and soaks into the glass. As he watches his blood sink, he thinks of his bird—how she came to Neverland soaked and shivering from the ocean she'd fallen in, her wild hair and hateful eyes after an argument, her smile—

He waits two minutes for a change to the globe, but nothing happens, making Rumple arch an eyebrow. "It seems Wendy and my son are in the same place."

"Baelfire? Bae's in New York?" Peter mulls it over and smiles. "Good for him, striking out on his own. You must be so proud of him."

Rumple glares at him and rests his hands on his cane. "Do you have something that can be used for the potion?"

Peter pulls away. "Well, no, not on me."

"I would suggest you get it. I'll wait with you at the town line," Rumple says, in a soft voice that sends bells ringing through Peter's head. Peter makes a mocking half-bow, turning and walking to the door.

He rests his hand on the doorknob and waits. "Oh, and Rumple," he says, staring at the road outside, "if you leave without me, I know where Belle's room is. It would be a shame if something happened to her, wouldn't it?"

"If you touch her—" Rumple snarls, stepping forward, and Peter laughs and steps outside. Rumple limps toward him as Peter steps off the curb and shoots off.

Rowena, one of the twelve girls called the "dancing princesses" and a girl who once masqueraded as his sister, is in the house when Peter arrives. She blinks at him and slides out of her seat. "Peter! You're home! Aliya was getting worried."

Peter forces a smile, but the thought of that insipid Norse woman masquerading as his mother grates on his nerves. "Don't tell her I was here, lassie," he tells her, and Rowena nods solemnly as he steals upstairs. It only takes a few moments for him to find what he was looking for, and he encloses it in his fist. When he looks outside, he sees Aliya arriving and stepping onto the porch, and he opens the window with one hand.

"Peter?" Aliya calls, and he rolls his eyes as he ducks out of the window and climbs out into the roof. His pseudo-mother runs into the room the moment he steps off, facing east—where Storybrooke's border is.

When he arrives, the Sheriff's car is parked to the side of the road, and he pulls up for a moment when he sees Rumplestiltskin and Emma Swan, leaning against the car. "Sheriff," he greets, lowering to the ground. Emma's eyes are wide and her mouth slightly open.

"You can _fly_?"

Peter gestures to the pixie dust around his neck. "Most of the time, if my thoughts are in order. May I ask, sheriff, just _what_, exactly, are you doing here?"

Storybrooke's eastern border looks exactly the same as it had when Wendy—when she left, with the exception that someone has painted a bright orange line directly across the road. The taste of magic is as deadly sweet as before, and it makes his skin prickle.

"Miss Swan is our so-called real world expert," Rumplestiltskin points out. "Face it, Pan, neither of us know what's really out there. She does, so she'll be our guide and, if need be, protector."

Peter scoffs. "I don't need a babysitter. I can take care of myself, or have both of you forgotten?"

Rumple smiles grimly and points at the orange light. "Once we cross that line, our magic is gone. The only magic in this land is the magic in Storybrooke."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Of course, how could I have forgotten the inevitable catch? Sheriff Swan—" he turns to Emma with a sardonic grin, "—my life is in your hands."

Emma rolls her eyes and opens the door. "Just get in, Pan."

"Wait." Peter turns to Rumple. "What about our agreement?"

"Ah, yes. Give me your item." Rumple holds out his hand, and Peter stretches his arm out and drops a silver thimble into his palm. Rumple raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, and Peter can feel his smile becoming harder and harder to maintain.

Rumple screws open the cap to his vial and dunks the thimble inside. The thimble glows purple for a moment, and when the glow fades, Rumple pulls it out and hands it to Peter. "_Now_ you get into the car," Emma says, and Peter obeys her, for once. When they start up the car, Peter drums his fingers on his knees.

"I've never been in a car before," he muses as the forest whips past them. Rumpelstiltskin had been right—the moment he had passed through that jelly-like wall, the taste of magic had disappeared, and he hadn't been able to make the fairy dust glow when he thought of the bir—_Neverland_. "It's quite exciting, actually."

Emma isn't amused by his antics, and Peter stretches out on the entire backseat, content with the silence. Neither of the adults are, though, and Peter inwardly smiles at the tension in the air. _This is going to be a long trip._

* * *

Emma parks the car outside New York and manages to hail down a _taxi_—what she calls an obnoxiously yellow-and-checkered vehicle that takes them inside the city. Emma sprouts off directions to the taxi driver, who nods as if he knows exactly where that is.

Peter is the first one out when the taxi pulls over to the sidewalk in front of a gray building, and he heads straight inside. There is no reception desk, and the stairwell is barred by a giant iron gate. A panel of buttons and numbers is next to the lock, and Peter is studying it when Emma and Rumple finally enter.

"What's this?" Rumple asks, and Emma blinks, trailing her finger down the number.

"Room numbers. I guess we buzz whichever one your son's in."

"And which one would that be?" Peter asks, arching an eyebrow. "I don't like _waiting_, sheriff."

Emma glares at him while Rumple masks a cough with his hand. Peter ignores that and watches as Emma glances over the plaque of numbers and points to Number 107, which has no name next to it. "That one."

"But there isn't a name on it," Rumple points out. "No one's living there."

"Gold, finding people who don't want to be found is my job," Emma says, and presses the button. "It's definitely him."

"What is it?" asks an unfamiliar male voice.

"Hi, we have a delivery for you," Emma replies. "Please come down to pick it up."

"Delivery?" the man asks. "Uh, sure, I'll be right down."

Something clicks on the other end, but they can still hear him whisper, "Drew, follow me," and the speaker shuts off. A moment of silence, and then there's a loud scuffle upstairs. All three look up, but it is Emma who realizes what is going on.

"He's trying to get out," she says, and all of them leave the building. Emma turns the corner and stops at the entrance to an alleyway, and points. "Look."

A figure has climbed onto the fire escape, and he's turned to pull a girl out of the window. She has a blue dress on and a ribbon holding her hair back, and while she's not facing them, Peter instantly recognizes her and clenches his fists.

_What is she doing? Stupid bird, thinking you could get away from me—_

The man grabs Wendy's hand tightly—that alone makes Peter nearly see red—and he jumps off of the metal fire escape with her. Both hit the ground hard and it takes a moment for them to get up and start running down the alley.

"Ms. Swan, I'm calling in that favor now," says Rumple, and Emma nods and takes off. All Peter can see is Wendy's back to him—just like it was at the town line—and he will _not_ let that happen again.

"You're _mine_, Wendy-bird," he mutters under his breath, and runs.


End file.
